


Relax

by KaneCorp



Series: Muriel deserves affection [3]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Anal Fingering, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pegging, Praise Kink, butt stuff, can't forget that tag, crystal dicks are involved, gender neutral reader, make him feel safe and also loved and then maybe do him in the butt, make muriel feel safe goddammit, praise kink muriel is very important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneCorp/pseuds/KaneCorp
Summary: Muriel wants to return the favor of the gifts you've given him, but you have a better idea on how to spend your time (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧or: i just wanted to put things in muriel's butt but things got way too convoluted again my guys





	Relax

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello, this got way fucking long again but here we are anyways  
> sidenote: i am living for thirsty and desperate muriel

It’s been a scant few days since you spent that night in Muriel’s home. The next morning he’d made you breakfast, a simple meal of spiced porridge, before accompanying you back to the city. You had tried to decline, certain that you could make it back on your own, but his quiet insistence had convinced you. It was a long walk through those woods in the chill morning air, most of it spent in relatively companionable silence. It, well, it was awkward. You’ve certainly had worse morning-afters, but none with someone you genuinely wanted to make something with. You fretted the entire trip back over whether whatever relationship you had with Muriel would change for the better or worse after this, and his silent nature hadn’t helped.

What did help, though, was when you reached the outskirts of the city, Muriel’s broad hand found yours. It was a gentle tug, just on the tips of your fingers to get your attention, and when you turned to him his eyes were kind. “I’ll try not to worry you so much,” the words were soft, murmured, left to find their way gently to your ears. You smiled at him and adjusted your hand in his grip, holding his hand properly.

“I don’t think anything can stop me from worrying about you,” you had said it as warmly as you could, trying to be clear that you weren’t making fun of him, you just really did care about him that much. When a light blush rose to his cheeks and he looked away, you knew Muriel had understood. You continued to beam at him as you spoke, “Thank you again for everything, Muriel.” The urge to tease was too strong to resist so you added, “And I do mean for _everything_ ,” with a saucy wink as your lips curled around the word ‘everything’.

The blush on his cheeks had darkened as he cleared his throat, eyes casting about as he replied, “That’s- you’re very welcome.” He’d shuffled his feet as you stifled a laugh at his reaction, the two of you parting there at the outskirts of town with short goodbyes, him back to the woods, and you returning to your shop.

That had all been about three days ago, and those quiet moments with Muriel had been followed by you coming home to find Asra packing to for yet another journey, leaving you waking today to an empty bed and an emptier house. This didn’t bother you, you’ve come to acknowledge that some need their own company more often than they need that of others’, and that Asra tends to be that sort of person. Obviously this didn’t stop you from missing his company, his warm presence was always a familiar comfort to you, but it’s an ache you can handle.

You ready yourself for the day, dressing warmly against the cool chill of the early morning and turning to the small kitchenette to make something for breakfast. It’s a simple meal, warm and filling but admittedly bland. Mealtimes are usually when you miss Asra most, if you’re being honest. God but that man can cook. You don’t waste time lamenting your flavorless fate for the next few weeks. Or you try not to, at least.

You hurry to prepare the shop for customers, tidying shelves and straightening table cloths. It may just be you here, but money must still be made. The morning hours are always slow, people preferring to take their time before wandering out of the comforts of their homes, and today is no different. It’s been nearly seven hours since you turned the open sign on the door, and there’ve been just as many customers. None of them stayed long, most stopping just to buy a protective charm or a remedy for some small ailment, leaving you to spend the majority of your time alone in the quiet of your cozy shop.

Far too alone, actually. It’s… exceedingly boring. You keep thinking about Muriel’s warm home and the sound of his laugh. The soft turn of his lips into a smile. The warmth of his skin. The way he shuddered as you whispered into his ear. The feeling of his mouth on your body. Your thoughts are getting carried away now, remembering every detail of his scarred body that it can, and you’re getting warm under your coat. You need something to do to distract yourself before a customer comes in to find you drooling onto the countertop.

A frustrated sigh blows from your lungs. That’s another problem. There simply isn’t much to do, at least not anything interesting enough to focus on properly. You’d already fixed the sweater for Muriel yesterday, and you don’t think you should just keep piling wool onto the poor man. With nothing to occupy idle hands and no customers to attend to, wandering thoughts are nigh impossible to avoid. You loose another sigh, more defeated this time, and decide that maybe you should go out into the city, try and find something interesting that’s happening. A short break couldn’t hurt at this point, surely.

A short few moments are spent extinguishing lights before you leave, hopefully preventing any unfortunate house fires in your absence. Winter is finally leaving it’s icy marks on the city, so you put an extra jacket around your shoulders before pulling the wooden door open. You’re barely a step outside before the hairs on the nape of your neck rise, the sensation of being watched washing over you. It’s an oddly familiar sensation these days.

Instead of panicking you cast your eyes around, looking for the man you know to be skulking about somewhere. Muriel has a difficult time engaging in human interaction, and there have been several times at the markets where you’d spotted him watching you dourly from an alley. As ominous as it had been the first few times, you’ve gotten used to finding him waiting patiently for you to make the first move, if you want to make any move at all. It’s odd that he’d be here though, you haven’t met him this close to your shop since that first unsettling encounter.

It didn’t take long for you to make out the shape of Muriel’s bulk idling across the street, wrapped in his furs and as grim looking as ever. He’s wearing the green sweater you gave him under his cloak, and seeing that makes you smile softly. The rest of him, from his hand clutched around the strap of haversack to the emphasized frown pointed at the wall across from him, made you a little confused though. He’s not exactly the most charismatic person, but he also doesn’t usually emanate such intense waves of sheer anxiety. His knuckles are nearly white where they’re latched to the leather strap over his shoulder, and you can practically feel his nervous tension vibrating through the air.

Your eyes meet and you can see his lips purse, your own frowning in concern. Something is definitely off. You don’t want to let him stew in whatever anxiety he seems to be nursing so you call out to him, moving off the doorstep and closing the door behind you. “Muriel?” he almost jumps at the sound of your voice, the barest hint of a twitch in his shoulders. You know better than to expect him to offer information unprompted, so you continue, “What are you doing here? Did you need something?”

He shifts his feet, taking a moment before replying, “Not exactly.” His voice goes quieter, like he’s unsure if he should be voicing the next part out loud, but you still hear him in the cold air, “I just wanted to see you.” He was meeting your gaze steadily until then, now his eyes stare into the grain of the wood behind you. You’re not sure if you’re grateful for that or not, because now you’re blushing, heat crawling across your face at his words. Such an admittance was completely unexpected from Muriel, and it is a little embarrassing how happy it made you, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome.

You let your lips spread into a warm smile, coughing a little as your cheeks still prickle with heat while you speak, “Well, I’m here now.”  His eyes snap to yours for a second, taking in your expression before looking away again. There’s a light dusting of colour on his cheeks, barely tinting the tan skin of his face, and you get the feeling he’s still not used to someone being so happy to see him. You clear your throat to stifle a giggle, instead saying, “Did you want to hang out, maybe go shopping together? Or did you just want to say ‘hi’?”

Muriel takes a moment before he answers, the fingers wrapped tight around his bag strap flexing some before he decides on his answer. “Actually,” his words are slow, deliberate, “is it alright if we go back inside?” That… wasn’t quite an answer you’d even thought was a possibility, truthfully. It caught you a little off guard.

You blink twice, hand rising to jerk your thumb over you shoulder to point at the door behind you when you ask, “Back into the shop?” You sound a little dumbfounded, but to be fair, you kind of are. His only reply is a short nod, so you put your hand down, still a little mystified when you tell him, “That’s fine, yeah.” You turn to push open the door you’d literally just left through, but, well, if it’s for Muriel you don’t exactly mind the inconvenience.

The sound of leathers and furs rustling follows behind you, Muriel moving slowly into the dim interior of the shop. He catches the door when you release it, letting it close slowly before he turns to look over the front room of your shop. You move to bring the lights back to life, casting the room into bright relief for him. It had only been a few moments since you left, but somehow having Muriel here with you makes the space feel odd. Not an unpleasant kind of odd though, just. Unusual.

You take off your outer coat, the extra layer no longer necessary inside, while Muriel takes his cloak off as well. He spots the coat rack by the door and hangs his heavy furs there, extending a hand for you own coat which you hand him gratefully. The wood of the rack creaks a little under the weight, but it holds, and Muriel is running out of things to busy himself with. There’s a pensive look on his face as he takes his rucksack and sets it on a clear space on the counter, hesitating with his hands over it. You can’t bear to let the silence stretch uncomfortably, and you doubt Muriel will break it himself, so you step closer to him to catch his attention.

He’s still facing the counter, but his head turns so he can meet your gaze where you try to lean casually against the old wood. You don’t think you’re really pulling it off, but it’s the best you’ve got so you forge ahead. Having him this close again is bringing back all the thoughts you had been trying to push away earlier. Then it was just memory, but now? Now the man himself is inside your home, close enough to touch, so you can’t help a breathy lilt to your voice when you ask, “Was there any special reason you wanted inside my house?” You tried not to emphasise the word ‘special’ too much, not wanting to come onto him too strong just in case, but you’re not really certain you did too well on that either.

Muriel’s response isn’t immediate, but finally he does look away from you, moving his hands back to his rucksack on the counter. Before he starts opening it he says, “There is, actually,” and that’s when you notice the blush still on his cheeks. His fingers fumble with the straps holding the flap closed, and you wait patiently while he continues, “I wanted to give you something in return for the sweaters.”

You feel your heart quicken, suddenly getting flustered. You hadn’t really meant for him to give you anything in return, it was just something you had wanted to do, so you did it. The thought of getting a gift from him now sets your heart aflutter, but you try to tamp down the butterflies. “Oh!” you can’t stop the exclamation tumbling from your lips, “I wasn’t really expecting anything! I just, wanted to give them to you.” Admitting that out loud is a little awkward, but it’s the truth.

His hands are already wrist deep in his pack, but he pauses to meet your eyes again. “In that case,” his voice rumbles low in his throat, “I just want to give this to you.” One hand grabs the lip of the sack while the other pulls the folded edge of some darkly furred item. You don’t really recognise what it is until Muriel turns to you, holding the item in both hands now to offer it to you.

It’s with a surprised laugh that you take it, feeling the dense fur between your fingers. “The bear skin?” It’s a lovely fur and a wonderful gift you suppose, but considering what happened the last time this fur was involved you’re trying to keep yourself from grinning too hard.

He nods, “To keep you warm.” A wicked thought crosses your mind at his words.

“Tell me,” you start, setting the fur on the counter while you lean closer to Muriel with a sly grin playing on your lips, “why would I need that, when I have you here to keep me warm instead?” That sultry breathiness is back, on purpose for once, letting your voice purr into his ears.

This time Muriel’s response _is_ immediate, that dark blush you’ve come to love spreading across his face as he bites the inside of his bottom lip. “If-,” you can see his throat bob as he swallows, “If that’s what you’d prefer, I am available, at the moment.” He’s definitely not familiar with these sort of trysts, but his clumsy way with words is particularly endearing to you. Man, you’ve got it bad.

You lay your hand on his forearm, a chaste touch for now, and tell him, “It certainly is.” The way his breath hitches is promising, and the way he can’t stop looking at your lips is even more so. For extra affect you flutter your lashes and lick your lips, “I’m starting to get chilly,” your other hand rises towards his face, fingertips brushing his jaw as you lean up to him, “I want you to get me hot again.”

His face leans into your touch and you see him swallow again, taking a moment before saying “Alright.” You don’t bother to hide your satisfied grin at his slight nod, urging him forward with the trace of your fingertips, pulling him closer to you as you reach up on your tiptoes to meet him. Muriel’s eyes slip shut as you get closer and yours follow suit, letting you focus on the feel of his lips against yours. They’re just as you remember, and it’s so _satisfying_.

You hum against him, letting your hand on his arm make its way to his shoulder while your other begs him closer still. He’s delicate in how he moves, one hand brushing aside your hair to find the skin of your neck, coming to a rest slowly. The warmth and weight of his fingers makes you shiver and you press closer to him, deepening the kiss eagerly. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat at that, and then he’s pressing back, almost desperately hungry for your affection. You wouldn’t be able to think of denying him even if you tried.

A sigh against his lips has his free hand finally on you, holding your waist as Muriel kisses you fervently. You sigh again, satisfied, and lick against his bottom lip to earn yourself a shallow groan. You could do this all day, really, but the angle has your neck aching and your ankles are feeling less and less steady the longer you stretch to meet him. It’s with a sad huff that you pull your mouth away, breaking the kiss even as Muriel almost blindly tries to follow your retreating lips.

You don’t give him time to worry, muttering with a laugh “You’re too tall for me like this.” His fingertips pet the back of your neck where they lay as he opens his eyes to take in your rueful smile.

A small hum comes from Muriel, “Sorry.” He looks genuinely regretful, but his own height isn’t something he can help, and it’s not like you really mind.

“No, it’s fine,” a gentle shake of your head accompanies your words. “Come upstairs and sit down for me?” A nod of his head has you smiling sweetly to him, your hand on his arm sliding down to fit into his own so you can lead him to the curtained stairway. He follows nervously, heavy footfalls echoing behind you, but his hand holds yours without wavering. Pulling the curtains aside, you pause to meet his eyes with your feet on the first two steps.

He looks worried but willing, blush rising, and you ache to reassure him. You don’t have anything to say, you’ve never been good with words, so you hope your actions will speak enough as you lean to kiss him softly from your new vantage. It’s just a quick peck, but when you pull away and continue smiling, Muriel nods again and you feel his thumb rub soothingly over the back of your hand. Your smile is warm then, and you turn, the both of you finishing your ascent to the bedroom.

It’s not a large room, but there’s space enough for a wide bed and a kitchen area, and you lead Muriel to that bed and urge him to sit on the edge. The frame creaks under his weight as he does, the many pillows and blankets nearly swamping his lap. Finally, like this he’s at the perfect height for you to kiss comfortably, and you use this opportunity eagerly. Lips meet again and both your hands cradle his face once more, his own resting on your waist where you stand between his knees.

You spend some moments like this, blistering kisses pressed against his willing mouth, before you introduce teeth, biting his bottom lip gently to earn yourself a gasp. You lick into his opened mouth and get a groan in return, his brows furrowing and his grip on your side boldening until he’s pulling you close against him. His arms are wrapped around you and the small sounds he makes encourage you to keep exploring his mouth, tasting him with your tongue. His own moves tentatively against yours, an experimental touch that leaves you wanting more.

You don’t want for long, the dam of his restraint straining as he starts kissing you like a man starved, leaving you keening high in your throat. Your fingers slip back into Muriel’s hair, carding through until a trembling moan passes between his lips at the feeling of your nails on his scalp. Soon you’ve got a loose grip in his hair, fingers stroking and scratching at his scalp as you feel your lungs start burn for air. You can’t pull away though, the feel of his lips on yours and the slowly growing boldness of his tongue begging you to stay.

His fingers on your sides begin teasing at the hem of your shirt, inching it up just until he can feel your skin. The forwardness is unexpected from him, but you welcome it all the same, leaning into his touch and moaning openly to encourage him. That burn in your lungs finally becomes too much to bear, so you use your hold in Muriel’s hair to urge him still while you pull back, and even then he’s trying to follow you again before he realizes what he’s doing. You’re both breathing heavy, and you can see how his eyes are already dark with lust and how he can’t tear them away from your mouth.

You realize that you must not have been the only one thinking about someone else’s lips in the middle of the day, and the thought sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. He’s just as hungry for you as you are for him. It’s clear in the way he can’t keep his hands still, fingers flexing and fidgeting against against your skin. Clear in the way his breath stutters as you lick your lips, his gaze never leaving your mouth. Clear in the way he tilts his mouth up to you when you lean back in, teasing him with the promise of another kiss before pulling away again, and clear in the low rumble of a groan in his chest.

An impish smile bends your lips, your hand falling to tug at the deep green wool of Muriel’s sweater over his chest, “I think I’m starting to regret giving you this. It’s _way_ too many layers on you for my liking.” His eyes cloud over at your words and he swallows hard before he’s grabbing at the fabric, pulling it over his head and baring himself to you without a word. That metal collar is still in place, and seeing it sends a lance of distaste deep into your guts. You try not to let it show on your face, instead focusing on the rise and fall of his chest and the way the movement emphasizes the generous muscles of his pecs. Not exactly a hard thing to focus on, considering how you practically drool over his chest at any chance you get.

You swallow the spit threatening to spill out of your mouth and let a pleased hum purr in your throat as you move your hands to his chest, fingers rubbing through the coating of dark hair there until you’re cupping his breasts. Muriel heaves a deep sigh and lets his eyes slide shut as your fingers wander his skin, groping and massaging with eagerness. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this, the feeling of his muscles under your fingers, bending to your will. Your voice rolls deep in your throat, smooth and sensual as you feel him up and say, “This is _much_ better. Thank you, Muriel.”

You give a pinch to one of his nipples before he can answer, pulling a gasp from him as you can feel the deep rumble of his words under your hands, “My pleasure.” It’s followed by another sigh and him subtly pushing himself into your hands, and you can’t help the short laugh you give. It certainly is his pleasure, isn’t it? The thought makes you want to give him more, show him all the pleasure that you’re so eager to give him, and you crave to push him down on his back again. You loved that view of him under you, and the sounds he made while you kissed his body. Before you can do that though, you want him comfortable, to be able to really fully enjoy everything you can give him, and that damned metal seems exactly counterpoint to the concept of ‘comfort’.

“Muriel,” you say his name gently, asking for his attention, and his eyes open to look at you. You let a hand slide upwards, fingertips barely ghosting over the edge where the metal stops and skin begins, “Can I take this off?” His lips purse for a moment and he goes still, and you stop your ministrations so he can think. You want it gone, but… if he has some reason he wants to keep it on then you won’t push it. A moment of silence passes, his heartbeat steady under your hand as you wait patiently for his answer.

It’s only a second longer before he takes another steady breath, eyes finally meeting yours again and he says, “Go ahead.” You keep your smile small as you nod to him, and you let your fingers glide along the metal, searching until you find the closures to one side. You’re gentle with your touch, not wanting to be harsh with him or make him feel pressured, but the fixtures are stubborn. You coax them open with magic, the hum of it in your fingertips until they release with a rusted creak. You try to pull the metal collar from his shoulders, but it’s heavy and you have to ready yourself properly.

The strain of effort pulls at your arms and Muriel gives you a worried look, but you smile reassuringly, fighting the sick feeling in your stomach at the sheer weight of the metal in your hands as you set it aside. You leave it visible on a counter for him, and turn back to him with as much love in your eyes as you can muster. For Muriel, you can muster quite a lot. His eyes reflect his own feelings, trust and love obvious but with an undercurrent of unease. That isn’t something you can let stand, and you’re determined to change it.

You come back to stand between his legs and move to kiss him, Muriel tilting his lips to meet your own. The soft contact after the heated passion of just minutes prior makes you hum contentment against his lips, and you feel him sigh through his nose as your lips slide together. You smile into the kiss, glad that he’s relaxing again, and you’re eager to pull that hunger of his from before back to the surface. Before that, there’s one more important thing you have to deal with.

Your hands slide down his arms, slow and steady, coming to rest at his wrists and you feel him tense again. You pull back to whisper against his lips, “What about these?” He doesn’t take nearly as long to decide this time.

His voice isn’t exactly strained, but there is a tinge of anxiety when he says, “Those too.”

You don’t want him to force himself, and your fingers starts massaging his arms comfortingly in reflex. “They can stay if you want them to. Or if they need to,” your voice is low, words gentle with acceptance.

Muriel closes his eyes and his voice is gruff when he repeats himself, “They can go.”

“Alright,” you kiss his lips again, sweet and chaste, before moving your attention to his wrists. The closures on the manacles come undone much easier than the collar’s, and each piece of iron is added to the pile on the counter until Muriel is free of his fetters.

Now you can see the areas of skin that had been covered before, and their complexion is pale in comparison to the rest of him. It isn’t because of a tan, you know because it’s too deep into winter for him to have managed enough time in the sun for one. The metal has just been there so long that it’s left the skin underneath starved for sunlight. You kiss him again, your hands on his shoulders and his lips eager to tangle with yours again. You can’t stand the thought of what he’s had to endure, and you don’t want him to have to bear that burden alone either. If only just for today, you want him to be free of it. So you kiss him, firm and warm against his lips, begging for his attention.

He gives it to you readily, hands finding purchase on your waist again and you feel him heave a deep sigh of relief through his nose. He angles his head, pressing against you to bring the kiss deeper, and you follow suit. Soon you’re sighing against him again, a hand having made its way back into his hair and the kisses start turning sloppier. Muriel’s boldness from before is coming back too, as one of his hands slides under the hem at the front of your shirt, rough palm sliding warm against your belly.

The feeling sends a shiver through you, and you press yourself into his palm, wanting to know just how far he’ll go on his own. When his hand reaches the curve of your breast you keen in delight, your shirt having ridden up to expose your waist, both of his hands now touching bare skin. Unfortunately, his hand stops there, going no higher and instead smoothing across your sensitive sides. The sensation is pleasant enough, and you understand how shy he can be, so you don’t mind it. Instead you bite at his lower lip to get a groan, tugging it gently as you pull back to break the kiss.

Now that all those obstructions are out of the way your desire to have him under you is coming back at full force. Before anything else, you take your shirt off, tossing the fabric somewhere you don’t bother to remember. Muriel’s eyes focus on your chest, the soft swell of your breasts enticing him again, and that dusky blush is back again as fierce as ever as he drinks in the sight of you.

You only give him a moment to look before you’re pressing the palm of your hand into the center of his chest, pushing insistently. He lies back obligingly, falling into the pillows behind him with a muted ‘whump’. One pillow dislodges from its place and tumbles over his face, and he grabs it with one hand to move it. The frown on his face as he gives the pillow a simmering glare before gently setting it out of the way has you laughing. When Muriel looks to you questioningly, you quiet yourself and focus your attention again.

This angle is one you don’t think you’ll ever tire of, and you lick your lips, openly ogling the muscles of his stomach and chest as you stare down at him. That blush of his is reaching the tips of his ears now, and he pulls one hand up to cover his mouth in shyness. It muffles his next words, but you hear them all the same, “You look like you want to eat me again.”

A wicked smirk takes over your face and you let your hands land low on his abdomen before you say, “That’s because I do.” A small noise is strangled in the back of his throat at that, and you relish it. Your fingers play over the dips and rises of his abs, absently tracing the scars as they find them while you move to lean over him. “You wouldn’t begrudge me another meal, would you sweetheart?”

Muriel groans, and the sound sends sparks down your spine. Your hands meander back to his chest while he answers you, “Of course n- Ah!” He’s interrupted by a pinch to both nipples, his back arching slightly and his voice catching in his throat. You stifle a snicker and relent in your teasing, letting him try again, “Of course not.” He sounds so breathless already, and you can’t wait to hear more.

Finally, you bring your mouth low, just able to reach his chest, and start planting kisses on his skin. You don’t bother starting chaste, you can already feel the beginnings of an erection where you’re leaning against him between his legs, so you let your tongue taste his skin as your lips travel. Your fingers still grope at his chest, thumbs brushing his nipples and pulling stuttering breaths from the man below you. When your mouth presses against his throat you suck gently, and the throaty moan Muriel gives has you mouthing at his apparently sensitive neck more desperately.

It wasn’t until you were this close though that you noticed the ugly discoloration of bruises, some fading and some blossoming, scattered over his clavicles and the tops of his shoulders. The thought of Muriel forcing himself to live with these marks because of whoever decided to chain down such a good man gives you pause, and you feel an impotent rage boil in your gut towards someone you don’t even know. There isn’t anything you can do now though, so before Muriel can start to worry you move your mouth again, pressing feather-light kisses to the bruises before moving your lips higher.

You mouth at the side of his throat, just over his pulse, and you can feel him hardening underneath you so you grind your hips down against him while you leave soft red marks of your own on him. The hand not over his mouth flies to your shoulder, and the shaking moan spilling from his lips is absolutely _divine_. You do it again, moaning against his skin at the sound and feel of him, telling him without words just how much you’re enjoying yourself, and he pulls his hand from his mouth to grip at the pillows above his head, giving up on trying to stifle himself. One more press against him has Muriel fully hard in his trousers, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs tense against the urge to rut up against you.

You would’ve kept going, keeping him there, tugging on his nipples and teasing him through his pants, but he choked a high and strangled ‘ _fuck_ ’ that you could barely hear. Something about it made you desperately aroused yourself, and suddenly you wanted more, wanted to see more of him, to hear what other sounds you can pull from him. You wanted your hands on his cock, showing him the attention he deserves. So you pull away, his hand falling from your back obediently, both of you breathing heavily as you look down at him, flushed red and wanting underneath you.

You eyes meet and you flash him a winning smile, your fingers finally leaving his nipples, the stiff peaks a dusky red from your ministrations, and bring your grip to the belt keeping his trousers on. “I think it’s time for these to go, yeah?” Muriel’s eyes are cloudy and he doesn’t seem like he can manage much more than a certain nod, so you continue, “Get these undone and I’ll take your boots off, alright?” He gives you another nod and you pull your hands away, his own broad palms taking their place while you step back from between his legs and crouch down to work off his boots.

They come off one after the other, and then he’s planting his bare feet against the floorboards to raise his hips and shimmy his pants down his waist. You stand and take over, sliding your hands against the swell of his ass to hook your fingers into the fabric before pulling it down, letting his cock bob free at last. You finish pulling his pants off his legs, setting them aside with more care than you had your own clothes, and take your place between his legs again.

Muriel is fully naked now, his cock laying heavy against his stomach and his chest heaving with each breath, and you wish you could watch him like this forever. The longer you let him sit, the more nervous he seems to get though, and he looks like he’s fighting the urge to cover himself; instead of staring you smile, and let your nails dance along the tops of his thighs. His muscles jump at the feeling, and you murmur, “I’ve got you, dear.” You see his throat work on a swallow, but he relaxes visibly nonetheless.

Your hands smooth over his thighs one more time before you lean down, fingers tracing the crease of his hips while you pepper kisses to his stomach. Muriel props himself up with one elbow underneath him so he can watch what you do, and you grin against his skin. You lock eyes with him as you trail your kisses downwards, your hand teasing the base of his erection before shying away, rubbing the inside of his thigh instead. His brows pinch and he groans low, but he lets you touch him as you want, and by the divine do you want to touch him.

Soon you’re kissing the sensitive skin at the crease of his hip, teasing him with your closeness to where he wants your touch most. You can feel the way his muscles jump when you lick at the soft patch of skin, and you’re tempted again to keep teasing him. The strangled noise he makes when you finally let your hand wrap around the base of his erection convinces you otherwise though. You’re grinning again and you can’t help the way you shudder at the sheer weight of him in your palm, your fingers barely meet around him, and so hot to the touch that it excites you.

He makes another bit off sound when you turn your face to plant a sweet kiss to the side of his cock, and you giggle at the sheer need apparent on his face. Your other hand comes to cup his balls, the wiry hair of his nethers tickling your skin as you hold them gently while you continue to plant chaste kisses to the heated skin of his member. Muriel’s biting his lip now, and as much as you’d like to just use your mouth on him, you do have a bit of a different plan. You want to show him the kind of pleasure he showed you back in his cabin.

You lean back a little bit, and you feel your cheeks burn at the exceedingly awkward question you’re about to ask, but you try to keep your voice steady. Muriel’s searching your face for answers, wondering what made you stop and if it was his fault, but you don’t let him worry while you broach the subject as delicately as you can. “Is it okay if I touch you here?” the tip of a finger ghosts across the puckered skin of his hole, hoping that would make your desire clear enough without you having to be any more explicit. The sharp intake of breath and subtle widening of his eyes tells you that he definitely understood what you were getting at.

You wait for him to let out a held breath, and you can see the muscles in his legs that had tensed up at your roving touch relax as he does so. “That,” he pauses a moment to clear his throat, “wasn’t really something I expected you to want to do.” He isn’t exactly avoiding your eyes, but he’s also definitely not meeting them either, and you can see his blush spreading to his chest now.

You pull your finger away, “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”

Muriel shakes his head ‘no’ slowly, “I don’t mind. It’s just… unexpected. I don’t really get why you’d want to do that, considering...” You wait patiently for him to continue, and he does, although his voice is quieter, “Considering you wouldn’t really, get anything from it.”

“That’s because I’m not worried about me,” you’re trying to look at him with as much affection as you can, “I just want to make you feel good.” Your smile is a little sheepish at your own admission, but your gaze is warm. Muriel’s looking at you like he’s trying to decide if he wants to believe you, so you add, “You made me feel good last time. Let me return the favor?”

His lips pull tight, before he finally concedes, “If that’s really what you want to do, I’d…” he takes a short pause, shifting his hips and scratching awkwardly at his beard with one hand, “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying.”

“Are you sure?” you ask one more time just to be clear, you don’t want him to push himself for you.

He answers by meeting your eyes again, despite the intensity of his blush, “I’m sure.”

You smile softly at him, pulling your hands away while you say, “Alright. Go ahead and get on the bed proper, then. I need to grab some things.” He looks a little disappointed by the loss of contact, but Muriel nods anyways before shimmying himself up the bed so that his feet no longer dangle off the end. You turn to the kitchenette to get a towel from the cupboard, and when you turn back to the bed you see Muriel fighting with the sheer abundance of pillows to make himself comfortable. You laugh a little until he finally manages to prop himself up comfortably, leaving his legs spread as casually as he could manage.

You set the towel on the edge of the bed for easy reach later, then kick off your shoes before climbing on the bed after him. The key components are put aside in a small box near your side of the bed, and you clamber over Muriel to move past pillows and fish it out. The box comes with you as you return once more to between his legs, nudging them open gently with your own thighs, until you set it down beside you and open it. Out from the box you pull a glass bottle of oil, the liquid clear and viscous.

Before doing anything else, you set the bottle down and lean over Muriel, kissing him gently and letting your hands massage his sides. His hands come to rest on your upper arms, and he kisses you back languidly until you separate to say, “If you want me to stop, you have to tell me, ok?”

He squeezes your arms gently in his hands, and you can see a flicker of amusement in his eyes, “I will.” You accept his answer with a nod and press one more kiss against his lips before you sit back on your heels. His thighs are warm around you and he’s still hard despite the interruption, so you let your hands smooth against his scarred skin to rekindle the mood.

You shuffle back further between his legs so you can lower your mouth to his skin again, kissing the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock while you bring your hands to the insides of his thighs. One hand comes to mirror your mouth, pressing lightly around his root as your other reaches for the vial of oil from before. With an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his cock you pull your hand away, relishing the quiet groan he gives while you open the bottle to pour slick onto your hand. You tease the base of his erection with small licks while you let the oil warm in your hand, and with each stroke of your tongue you can hear Muriel’s breath stutter.

He’s probably had enough teasing, you think. You sit up, and before he can miss the heat of your mouth, you wrap your clean hand around him, a sure grip on the hardness in your hand. Your other hand delicately reaches between his cheeks, a slick digit circling his entrance while you stroke slowly over his cock. Muriel shifts his hips, widening his legs a bit for you, and takes a deep breath to relax himself while you ensure his outside is properly coated in oil. He still jumps a little when the tip of your finger catches as you start applying pressure, but you keep a close watch on his face for any signs of discomfort as your finger pushes past the reluctant ring of his muscle.

After the initial resistance, your finger slides in easily to the first knuckle. Slowly you rock your finger, short thrusts to work it gently deeper into him, his cock still hot and heavy in your hand. When your finger is finally fully seated in his back door, Muriel breathes a sigh through his nose. “Still alright?”

He gives you a nod. “You can move a little faster, though,” another sigh as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the pre that collected there, “I can handle it.”

You frown, “Just because you can handle it doesn’t mean I should do it.” Despite your words you begin twisting your finger, bending it and searching for what you know should be there. Muriel opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but just then your finger brushed against something firm inside him and his jaw clenched shut with a grimace. You would have been worried you’d hurt him if it weren’t for the fact that his cock absolutely _throbbed_ at the touch, and you let your finger press against that firmness again. His cock jumps in your hand again and he practically keens high in his throat. “Good?”

His brows are furrowed and his voice has a ragged edge to it, “Yeah, act-” He was interrupted by another firm rub against his prostate, a stuttering groan breaking his words, and the grin on your face is absolutely shit eating. You flutter your eyelashes at him in a facade of innocence, and it’s enough to coax a soft laugh from him.

Now that you know he can enjoy it properly, you set to work spreading the lube inside of him until he’s soft and wet around your finger. His breathing has started coming heavy again, each pass of your finger past his prostate pulling another drop of pre to bead at the tip of his dick.

“Another finger.”

“Huh?” you weren’t expecting him to talk, so it caught you by surprise.

Muriel bites his lip, the flush on his face absolutely furious as he repeats himself, “Another finger, please.” Who are you to refuse such a polite request?

You press a second finger in alongside the first, gentle and insistent, and when both fingers slide in to the knuckles Muriel tries to stifle a grunt. The sight of him leaving himself open to you like this, patiently relaxing as your fingers work him open, makes your mouth water and you can’t help but rake your gaze across his body on display. He fidgets under your scrutiny, hands fisting in the sheets, but he also can’t help the way his hips start to rock into your hand. His mouth hangs open on each breath now, and soon he lets his head fall back listlessly to the pillows while your fingers work him relentlessly.

Honestly, you didn’t expect him to be _this_ into it. You had just wanted to tease his prostate while you took as much as would fit of him into your mouth, but now his cock rests dripping against his stomach with barely a touch from your hand. The thought of complaining never once crosses your mind though, the wet noises of your fingers thrusting into his ass drowning away all thought beyond the consuming need to make Muriel come undone.

It isn’t long until he’s accommodated to the stretch of your fingers, choked grunts dying in his throat at each pass. You’re wet between your own legs, excitement stewing in your core, stirred by every noise he makes, but you pay it no mind. Right now you’re focused on him, only him, you want him to enjoy every second of this, so your own needs can wait. You can feel the pulse of his racing heartbeat from inside him, and the confused murmur he makes when you slow your fingers tugs at something inside you.

“Another?” you were sure he could take another, but you wanted to ask him first before you did anything.

Muriel nods, followed by a breathless “Yeah”, only to gasp as you pull your fingers out with a slick sound. Your thumb rubs circles soothingly on the inside of his thigh before you grab the bottle again, pouring more oil onto your fingers just in case. When he sees what you’re doing, Muriel adjusts himself. He plants his feet on the bed to raise his knees, and he brings one hand down to grab the underside of his own thigh, holding his leg up and away a bit for you. The sight makes you bite your lip and groan, almost fumbling in your eagerness to slide your fingers back into him.

With one hand you press three slick fingers against his entrance, your other holding his opposite thigh, giving you room to work. The extra oil makes the going easy, Muriel’s body swallowing your digits to the root, a weak moan falling from his mouth. You can’t help a groan of your own at the sight, words leaving you in a reverent whisper, “You’re gorgeous.” Muriel makes a disbelieving noise, though it’s strained around the knot of pleasure gathering in his belly.

“I mean it, you really are. Especially like this,” you don’t know if he’ll believe you no matter what you say, but you want to tell him anyways. It’s the truth. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying this, it’s-” you have to swallow before you can continue, “it’s insanely hot.” Your words are punctuated by a firm press against his prostate, and the way his cock jerks and how you can feel his muscle spasm around you has you rubbing your thighs together.

Muriel closes his eyes and gulps a shuddering breath, trying to make his next words steady. “I don’t think-” a grunt interrupts him, and you catch his toes curling out of the corner of your eye, “I don’t think I can take much more.” His eyes are clouded and his chest heaves, hair sticking to the sweat on his face when he opens his eyes again to plead with you, “Can you- Please, would you-”

You don’t make him finish the sentence, cutting him off with an eager nod, “Yeah, yeah I can-” you feel about inside the box you’d set aside earlier with your free hand, grip finding purchase on something hard, “here, would this be okay?” In your hand is, well, it’s a crystal dildo, made of quartz and of average size. It’s what you usually use for yourself when you’re alone, but the thought of sharing it with Muriel like this has you biting your lip in excitement. You hold it where he can see it, your other hand insistently working your fingers inside him.

Muriel bites his lip, his unoccupied hand fisting itself in the sheets before he nods, “That’s fine, just. _Please_.” His voice nearly cracked on the last word, desperation for release seeping into each syllable he spoke. The sound of it had you groaning again, high and winded, before you pull your hands back, your fingers leaving his body with a wet pop. You rush to get your own trousers off, unable to stand the layers any longer, throwing the fabric frantically behind you.

You want to touch him so much, you want to feel every inch of his skin again, and you want to kiss him, his face, his chest, but you just can’t reach properly with one hand down between his legs. So instead you take the crystal and position it in front of yourself, pressing the base low against your mons before letting ropes of magic flow through your fingers. The magic grips the base of the dildo and weaves itself into the fabric of your underwear, securing it sturdily against you. Muriel’s body shudders visibly, and with your eyebrows drawn and desire etched into your face you ask, “Is this okay?”

Muriel can’t pull his eyes away from watching you slick more oil across the surface of the crystal, stroking the fake dick languidly, making it bob when you finally release it, and you barely catch his answer. “ _Fuck yes_.” It’s whispered under a groan and he’s moving his body, lifting his legs as high as he can and moving each hand to hold behind his knees, making himself as available as possible to you. It isn’t exactly by much since he really isn’t flexible, but the intent is enough to have you groaning, spitting profanities under your breath.

You can’t take it anymore, you want to kiss him so badly. You let yourself fall upon him, scooting your hips closer to him while you just barely manage to reach his lips with hungry kisses. If he hadn’t propped so many pillows behind him, you doubt you’d be able to reach at all, but as is he’s returning every kiss eagerly. Gently, you press the blunt end of the crystal against his entrance, and with the barest amount of pressure, it slides in. Muriel’s grunting into your mouth as you rock your hips slowly, working inch after slick inch into him.

When your hips meet the back of his thighs, Muriel gasps against your mouth, hot and wanting, but you don’t move any further. Instead, you touch him, hands greedily touching every inch of his chest while you let him adjust to the new length. You don’t move your hips again until he whispers a ‘ _please_ ’ against your lips, leaving you weak-kneed as you pull out slowly. You’re still slow, but you set into a steady rhythm, rutting into him until he’s gasping with each thrust.

You drag a hand away from where you’d been groping his chest, dropping it low to wrap around his erection, and he nearly chokes on a moan. You think you’d much rather it if he was louder, though, and you remember just how he responded last time when you had started praising him. “C’mon Muriel, let me hear you?” You can hear him suck in a stuttering breath, so you punctuate your next word with a twist of your wrist as you stroke him, “Please?”

That gets the result you wanted. A choked curse followed by a low moan tumbles from his lips, another moan escaping him when you mutter, “That’s it.” You keep up the quiet praise, telling him how much you enjoy hearing him, seeing him, feeling him under you, and at each word you can feel the deep bassy rumbles of his moans get more desperate. You decide not to make him ask for any more, increasing the pace on your own before he has to ask you, steadily until the sounds of your skin meeting his starts to fill the room.

Soon you’re leaning down to whisper your praise against his ear, your hand keeping pace with your hips and low moans accompanying each hilting of the crystal cock inside Muriel. You’re reluctant to go harder, not wanting to do anything that he was uncomfortable with. When in doubt, it’s always best to ask, right? Your lips graze his ear while you speak, voice heavy with your own arousal, “Muriel, tell me, do you want it harder?”

The answer you get is almost immediate, Muriel presses his head back into the pillows as his back arches, hissing, “ _Yes_ .” Such an enthusiastic answer sends lightning down your spine, spurring you to deliver what he so clearly wanted. With a shift of your hips you piston into him, the wet sounds of your, ahem, _activities_ reverberating in the air.

Now Muriel isn’t the only one sweating, perspiration beading along your back from the exertion. Distantly you marvel at your own stamina before being interrupted by Muriel arching his body, his chest pressing against yours as you hear him suck in a desperate breath. You recognize that he must be close, so you redouble your efforts, pumping his cock fast and hard while you do best to keep your hips steady. “That’s it, you’re doing so good, go ahead and come,” your voice is shaky with exhaustion but it does the job.

A needy whimper escapes Muriel, just before the winded shout that signals his orgasm. You work him through it, feeling his come actually reach the underside of your breasts while you keep stroking. You’re gentle about it, slowing your movements with each rolling wave of pleasure through his body until he’s going soft in your hand and he hisses in discomfort. You place a gentle kiss to his temple while he catches his breath, “Good boy.” He shakes and groans again at your words.

Muriel grunts when you pull the crystal out of him, and he slowly releases his legs. They settle around you stiffly while you undo the magic binding the dildo to your underwear, and you set it aside before sitting back fully on your heels. Goodness, but did Muriel do a number to his chest. Come lays thick and sticky over most of his belly, not to mention where you can feel it dripping from your breasts. You both make a face at it before you retrieve the towel you had gotten earlier, first wiping your own chest before you clean him as best you can.

It’s a quiet few moments while Muriel collects himself, but he’s the first to break the silence. “Did you…?” It isn’t hard to tell what he’s asking about.

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t, but it’s fine. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” you try to smile endearingly, but it’s hard when you can feel your own wetness soaking your underwear, that simmering heat low in your gut begging for stimulation. You’re trying not to shift your legs too much, subconsciously seeking friction against your nethers.

If Muriel notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he sits up properly and meets your eyes, his voice sincere, “I want to.” You can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks at that, and the excitement in your veins sings at the prospect of being touched.

You clear your throat lightly, “Then, if you’d use your hands, please…”

Muriel nods and reaches for you, a hand landing on either side of your waist to guide you up onto your knees. You shiver at the touch, the rough skin of his palms tickling you as he slides them down to grab the hem of your underwear. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, but then he pauses. You start to wonder if something’s wrong, but then he asks, “Do you want them off?”

It’s your turn to beg, apparently. “ _Yes_ , please, get rid of them,” you let your need bleed into your voice, making it apparent just how much you need his touch. You brace your hands on his shoulders, and then he’s pulling your underpants down, the fabric gliding over sensitive skin, his knuckles rubbing against you and making you shiver at the promise. He pulls the fabric from your legs and sets it aside with much more consideration than you had given the rest of your clothes, but soon his hands are back on you, broad and warm on your hips.

Muriel’s first tentative press against your folds has you keening, desperate to encourage him to do more. He hadn’t used his fingers on you last time, but he remembers what he learned with his tongue, and you couldn’t be more thankful. He uses the callused pad of his finger so slide against your lips, spreading you gently and slicking his finger before her focuses on the nub of your clit. You keen and sigh at each touch, spreading your knees wide to make room for his hand as he draws tight circles over your clit with one finger, gaining courage with every breathy sound you make.

You can hardly believe how worked up you are, just the simple pressure against your clit making the knot of pleasure that simmered in your belly for so long coil tighter and tighter, wetness quickly coating Muriel’s fingers as he touches you. Experimentally, he spreads your folds with thumb and middle finger, exposing more of your sensitive nerves to his touch and you can’t help the way you grind your hips down against his hand. Your hands are gripping fitfully at Muriel’s shoulders, and you use that hold to steady yourself as you start bearing down against his hand desperately, seeking release.

“Muriel, Muri - hah - more, c’mon,” words tumble from your lips, breathless and high, but he listens. Muriel presses two fingers against your clit and presses firm, moving them fast and tight over you, making you moan. “Yeah, like that! Ahh~!” you can feel your climax approaching, and you greedily rock your hips against his touch, encouraging him as much as you can through the haze of pleasure clouding your thoughts.

With one last desperate rut against his hand, your climax crashes over you, muscles clenching and whining moan tearing from your throat. Muriel works you through it, fingers steady against you and a hand on your hip to keep you upright until you try to pull away, your over sensitive nerves aching at the stimulation. You have to catch your breath, so you lean against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder while you try to breathe. Muriel wipes his fingers against the towel while he waits patiently, his clean hand rubbing soothingly over the small of your back.

Finally your breaths even out, but you don’t move, instead humming against Muriel’s throat. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

He rests both hands against your back now, and you can practically hear the blush on his face in his voice when he replies, “I did.” He takes a short pause, and his next words sound a little unsure, insecure, “Did you?”

You thought that was obvious. Instead of any witty remark, you just wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him close and saying, “I certainly did.” You pull back a little and place a kiss upon his cheek, “It was wonderful, and I enjoyed every minute of it.” Your thighs are complaining at you for staying upright for so long when they’re so obviously tired, so you sit down on your heels again before you ask, “Do you want some water?” Your thumbs are absent-mindedly petting the back of his neck while you look at him.

He nods, but then apparently decides a verbal response would be better, “Please.” How polite!

You smile and let go of him, one hand patting his chest lightly before you start moving backwards off the bed, “Of course.” Your legs shake when you try to stand and it makes getting upright more of a challenge than you wanted, and Muriel’s hands come out to try and support you but you wave him off, laughing softly, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little unsteady is all.” He frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything, letting you make your way to the kitchenette on wobbly knees.

You pour two glasses of water, one for yourself and one for Muriel. The return trip is much smoother, your legs finally back under your control as you sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. Muriel takes a glass from your hand and thanks you, before draining it while you sip your own water. Once both cups are empty, you take them back to the sink to let them dry.

You turn from the counter, looking at Muriel as warmly as you can, “Do you want to stay for a nap?”

He’s still blushing slightly, but he meets your eyes, “I don’t mind, but… I can’t stay for long. I have things I need to finish doing today.”

You nod in understanding, “That’s fine. I’d just, um, like to cuddle some before you go, if that’s okay?” Now your own nerves are coming back, but you really would like to snuggle. There’s just something about being held in his arms that makes you feel… safe, is the best word, you think.

Muriel smiles softly, his eyes warm and his voice gentle, “I’d love to.” The honesty has you grinning, and you can’t help the happy chuckle you let out as you crawl back into his lap. He wraps his arms around you and lays back, holding you to his chest as you snuggle against him. It’s warm here, in his arms, and you love it. Soon you’ll both have to put your clothes back on, and he’ll have to don the fetters of his past once again, but for now? For now, you’re safe in each other’s arms, comfortable and relaxed, basking in each other’s love.


End file.
